


kiss me with rain on your eyelashes

by gazing



Series: good omens bingo fills [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bickering, Caretaking, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Living Together, M/M, No Angst, Old Married Couple, Pet Names, Prompt Fill, Rain, Retirement, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Tenderness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gazing/pseuds/gazing
Summary: Aziraphale gets caught in the rain. Thankfully, his husband is waiting at home to warm him up.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: good omens bingo fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110932
Comments: 7
Kudos: 67
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021





	kiss me with rain on your eyelashes

**Author's Note:**

> my first fill for my good omens bingo card! the prompt was rainy day <3 enjoy!

The umbrella in Aziraphale's hands is not for himself.

As the rain pours and he steps between the raindrops the small, sweet looking man covers a large pile of books with an umbrella, as if the ancient yellowing are more precious to him than himself. He's soaked to the bone, droplets trickling down the back of his neck, through the damp wool of his hand knitted sweater, but the _books_... the books are blissfully dry.

Earlier that day the skies had been light and clear - when Aziraphale had glanced between the shelves in the antique bookshop and out of the window, there had been no sign of the torrential downpour to come. Crowley has always said that Aziraphale gets... dangerously distracted around books. It's true enough. He had spent hours browsing the ancient, precious books in that tiny store, as he did every Sunday, and by the time he'd resurfaced there was a tell tale _pitter patter_ on the store windows. Oh bother, Aziraphale had thought, it's _raining._

And he had forgotten his book bag! The paper bags from the store would have been drenched through if he used them to carry the books he'd discovered. The thought crossed his mind that he could just leave without buying anything, but Aziraphale had walked all of the way here, so he was not willing to leave behind the books he'd found during his visit. They are treasures, and they _need_ to be in his collection.

So, this is how he finds himself dripping as he walks the familiar streets, his new books covered safely with his umbrella. Aziraphale supposes he _could've_ called his husband and asked him if he would _please_ pick Aziraphale up, but it would feel like an admission of defeat. And anyway, Crowley spent his Sundays in his dressing gown with no intention of stepping outside. Aziraphale hardly wants to drag him away from the warm cocoon of warmth and laziness that Crowley is inevitably wrapped in.

The further he walks the more irritated Aziraphale becomes. His socks are soaked through. His hair, pale and greying, is plastered to his forehead. He must look a fright, with raindrops slipping down his cheeks and his lips pursed. But it will be worth it, he thinks gravely, to see these wonderful books sat snugly on one of his bookshelves.

By the time he reaches his cottage, Aziraphale is shivering. His fingers are trembling so it takes him a moment to unlock the door, the key fumbling in the lock before finally making a resounding _click._

"I'm home, dear." Aziraphale calls. The warmth of the cottage hits him immediately - _bless_ Crowley for always keeping the fireplace blazing.

Crowley appears in the living room doorway. As expected he's wrapped snugly in his dressing gown and when he sees the state of his husband a smirk grows on his face. Aziraphale is familiar with this smirk. It's the smile he gets when he is about to cause trouble.

"Hey, angel," Crowley begins, stepping towards him in the hallway. Aziraphale shrugs off his coat, still holding the books tightly.

"Yes, yes," Aziraphale sighs, "You're about to say _I told you so._ "

"Well, I _did_ say it was going to rain today." Crowley shrugs, and leans down to kiss one of Aziraphale's cold, wet cheeks in greeting. "Should've brought your bookbag. You used the umbrella on those, didn't you?"

He sends a pointed glance to the books, and Aziraphale clutches them tighter.

"You're going to get sick." Crowley frowns.

"It was only a spot of rain." He defends, and then, ironically, sneezes.

Crowley's smile widens.

"Right, yeah. Give me those." Crowley says, and takes the books from his arms. If there's anyone Aziraphale trusts with his collection, it's Crowley, so he doesn't mind. "Go and put something warm on."

"Alright." Aziraphale sends his husband a smile, and Crowley smiles back - crooked, sweet. Then they part ways, Crowley to one of Aziraphale's numerous bookshelves, and Aziraphale to their shared bedroom.

The cottage only has one floor. They'd met in the city, high times and bright lights and the bustle of people, but both had come to learn they'd rather have a home like this. The quiet, peaceful country is a dream for Aziraphale. He can read to the sound of the birds tweeting. He can look out at his blooming garden. And the village town is not that far from their cottage, though in the cold rain it had felt like a much longer walk than usual.

Once in their small bedroom Aziraphale pulls off his sweater, and trousers. The bed hasn't been made, because Crowley won't have left it till noon, and he never makes the bed. Before he dresses Aziraphale straightens the sheets.

There's a click of the door opening before Aziraphale feels a warm, comfortable weight around his shoulders.

"Take this, angel." Crowley murmurs, "I've put the kettle on."

Crowley has wrapped his dressing grown around Aziraphale. Aziraphale puts his arms inside it and lets out a long, relieved sigh. It's still warm from Crowley's body, and it smells like him. _Divine,_ Aziraphale thinks.

"Thank you, Crowley." Aziraphale says. Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale's neck and hugs him, smiling against Aziraphale's neck.

"You're freezing." Crowley murmurs. Aziraphale leans back into him, his eyes fluttering shut.

Crowley presses a kiss to the side of his head.

"Come and sit by the fire." He says softly, "You need to warm up."

"That would be lovely." Aziraphale murmurs.

And so Aziraphale lets Crowley lead him by his hand to the living room.

"I'll be back in a minute." Crowley says, sitting Aziraphale on the sofa. He rests his hand on Aziraphale's shoulders, and Aziraphale looks up at him. Crowley is only in his dark pyjamas, his hair messy as if he's been napping. He is incredibly cute, though he would be outraged if Aziraphale suggested it. "Stay here."

"Where else would I go?" Aziraphale asks, and Crowley rewards him with a smile.

While his husband is gone Aziraphale sinks back into the cushions, melting into Crowley's dressing gown and the warm, soothing atmosphere. The fire is flickering, flames rising and falling against the coal. Crowley has been lying here, Aziraphale thinks - the sofa is warm against his back. He notices the record playing gently in the background, mingling with the sounds of the rain on the windows. He must've been lying listening to music. Aziraphale imagines this, his eyes closed, smiling.

"Here you go, angel." Crowley's voice drifts into the living room. Aziraphale sits up and takes the warm mug between his palms, the heat of the tea a shock against his still cold skin.

Crowley does not have his own mug. He sits gently beside Aziraphale on the sofa, crossing his legs. When he tilts his head and gives Aziraphale a small smile, he looks so young and bright, so alluring as the rain falls.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Crowley asks. He hums along to the record while Aziraphale takes a sip of tea. It's wonderful - Crowley has always paid attention to the finer details. A spoonful of milk. And just a hint of sugar, a teasing sweetness that Aziraphale delights in.

"I did." Aziraphale says after a moment, "Primrose - you remember her, the bookseller - has grown rather fond of me. She gave me a deal on a rare book of poems that I've been looking for."

Crowley nods, listening. Aziraphale has always marvelled at how much Crowley loves him. His husband sits and listens to whatever he has to say. He'll take care of Aziraphale, protect him, leave him post it note reminders and leftover food and hold his hand before they sleep.

"They're bringing in a new order on Wednesday." Aziraphale says. "I might go after work."

"Want a lift?"

"Oh, but I do love the walk." Aziraphale smiles, "You can come with me, though, if you like."

"I'll see if I can get off early, then." Crowley says, and Aziraphale brightens. Oh, what a perfect husband he has.

Aziraphale sets his tea on the coffee table and curls his legs beneath him. As he does his knee brushes Crowley's. He tugs Crowley's dressing gown tighter around himself, warmth and soft fabric pressing delightfully against his bare skin.

"Still need warming up, angel?" Crowley asks. Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. He knows exactly what his husband wants.

"Oh, alright. Go on then." He says, and he opens his arms. Crowley grins and crawls into them, pressing himself against Aziraphale, who wraps his arms around his back. His husband has always loved to cuddle - and it would be cruel, Aziraphale thinks, as Crowley wraps their legs together, to deny him of that.

Oh, but perhaps it _is_ rather lovely to have Crowley's hair tickling his neck, Aziraphale. His body warms all of the places where Aziraphale still feels a little damp and cold. 

"Missed you." Crowley murmurs, his face tucked into Aziraphale's neck. His hands snaking around Aziraphale's back to hold him closer.

"I was only gone an hour or so." Aziraphale says, but his heart is softened by Crowley's embrace and he presses a kiss to the top of his head as he traces his hands up and down Crowley's back, soft and soothing. "Were you listening to music?"

"Mhm. Lazy Sunday."

After a moment Crowley emerges from his neck and props himself up on Aziraphale's chest. He gazes into Aziraphale's face and plays with the collar of the dressing gown, and his fingers brush against the skin of Aziraphale's soft collarbone as he does.

"I had an idea." He says.

"What is it, dear?"

"You need another umbrella." Crowley says, "One for you, and one for the books."

"It would certainly solve the problem." Aziraphale says, "But I rather like this solution instead."

Crowley smiles. He gives Aziraphale a long, warm kiss, and Aziraphale does not feel cold anymore, just melting and fuzzy. Warm and sweet like fresh honey, like melted chocolate.

"It's still raining, you know." Crowley says, and indeed Aziraphale can hear it still pounding against the windows. "Stay here."

"Don't worry, my love." Aziraphale smiles, reaching up to brush strands of Crowley's hair away from his cheeks. "I'm not going anywhere."

**Author's Note:**

> *dies from fluff* AAAAAAAAAAAAAA


End file.
